


Paper Hearts

by plaidshirtjimkirk



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Banter, Character Study, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Lovers, Healing in the present, Hokkaido, M/M, Oblivious!Sano, Pining, Protective!Saito, Self-Doubt, dealing with the past, meiji husbands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9482006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: As he strives to find himself again after returning from Kyoto, the letters Sano writes to Saito are devoid of feeling. Saito sees them for what they really are, but he'll let Sano come to that realization on his own. However, by the time Sano puts all the pieces together, it might be too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for checking out my story! Saisa is literally life-giving and has done the unexpected. I have pairings that I casually like...and then there are pairings that become OTP status. I spent the last few years writing exclusively for Kirk/Spock because they were something really special to me. Never thought I'd find another relationship that would move me like they did...but here we are today. :D
> 
> This story is a canon offshoot that takes place after Kyoto and ignores the events of the Jinchuu arc. I'm writing this as the new Hokkaido chapters are starting, so I'm not using that canon at all.
> 
> Heads up to my Trek friends who I've pulled into Kenshin...this fic spoils the Kyoto arc/s2.

**.*Prologue*.**

_Winter 1879  
12 th Year of the Meiji_

Trembling lips and rosy chapped cheeks. Half-lidded dark eyes and heavy heaves. Frigid air in, puffs of warm breath out. Feet numb from the cold, staggering along a river-side path blanketed in ivory.

None of these things could stop Sano now.

Not the veil of snow that had adorned his hair and the coat unsuited for winter, not the shivering of his bones, not the aching of his frozen hands. Without thought, his tongue poked out to wet the split in the center of his lower lip.

The water had iced over and the world had gone silent—and somewhere along this never-ending journey, Sano had too. He’d blinked when his eyes glazed and vision blurred, but soon, batting lashes only once wasn’t enough to ameliorate his vision. Without clear sight, his wet boots pressed on, one step after the other after the other, as the exhaustion mounted and weighed him down.

Still, the resolve that had brought Sano to this point could never shatter. He was not weak. Proving that had been the obsession which led him to this very moment, but now it was the furthest thing on his mind.

Sano lifted his chin to scope out the path ahead and his feet cemented in place. Dark tree branches arching over the road were expected, but the motionless figure contrasting the atmosphere hadn’t been. Black hair, black coat, black boots…golden eyes. Ashes from the end of a cigarette between his lips broke away.

Sano’s mouth parted wider, but his voice was lost. His shoulders rose and fell.

Neither moved, neither spoke. The concept of time was lost as the moments passed while snowflakes fell between them.

The taste of irony spilled over Sano’s tongue, instead of the words he had traveled this long arduous way to speak—a bitter, unpleasant flavor telling him that what had drove him to this place had been wrong.

He hadn’t come here to say goodbye.

Sano huffed and began to breathe heavily, the faint sound of his voice riding out with several exhalations, as he stumbled forward until his breath mingled with Saito’s. Hands marred by painful cracks tightened into hardened fists and lashed out. But they didn’t swing at Saito’s face as they had been planned to; instead, they latched onto his warm coat with digits digging deeply into the material and twisting.

Sano’s forehead crashed against a broad shoulder.

“I have,” he panted softly, “a response to your letter.” Sano pulled tighter on the coat as he squeezed his eyes together and an upheaval of overwhelming emotion caused his voice to crack. “…you fucking asshole.”

~

**Paper Hearts**

**.*Chapter 1*.**

_April 15, 1879  
12 th Year of the Meiji_

Ink coated the tip of a moving brush, leaving angular trails of onyx characters in its wake on mulberry paper. The hand slowed to a stop and lifted, hesitant to complete the last stroke.

A tongue poked out to wet dry lips—lips which curled in as top teeth gently bit down.

_…Was this too soon?_

Indecision kept the black tip suspended above the paper for moments, until a careless horizontal swipe finalized the short message. All it read was a date.

Sano placed the brush down with a pointed tap and expelled the deep breath he hadn’t even realized he’d held. From his sitting position on the floor, he glanced around his one-room dwelling and then flopped back on the futon. A forearm fell over his closed eyes while he attempted to swallow equal parts of anticipation and uncertainty seeping up within him.

He was unsuccessful in blocking either.

This had been the third letter of its kind that he’d written since the end of February. Perhaps, three in seven weeks was a bit excessive, but as this one had been completed, it only made sense to send it out.

Sano’s other arm raised and fingertips settled over the scar on his right shoulder. His lips opened slightly and like this, he remained in the silence of his home.

~

_April 16, 1879  
12 th Year of the Meiji_

The wooden chair creaked with the pressing of shoulder blades against its high back, while honeyed eyes danced over the first of many long pages. Report review days were an unfortunate side condition of this profession, but such inconvenience was far outweighed by the benefits.

A tobacco fix would help him through the monotony, as it always had.

Without diverting attention from the task at hand, a fresh cigarette was placed between soft lips before the matchhead struck the side of a small box, producing a blaze and familiar scent. Saito drew a breath to light up, shook his hand to put the flame out, and dismissively dropped the used match into an ash-filled circular tray.

Bamboo blinds reduced strong morning sunlight to a mere kiss of warmth within the small office, catching winding trails of gray smoke permeating the air, but the perfect spring moment would be short-lived. Tokyo had seen an early start to the rainy season this year, and this space would soon turn damp, clammy, and dark as noon approached.

The seasons were the seasons, however, just as human nature was human nature: predictable and yet unpredictable—always changing and yet always the same. It would be illogical to protest either.

A shadow stopping before the door and subsequent knock disrupted the background noise of chirping birds and a croaking frog somewhere beneath the open window—and finally pulled Saito’s concentration away from the stack of papers he held.

“Yamazaki,” a muffled low voice announced from the other side.

Identification was an unnecessary formality as Saito could tell who his visitor was just by the outline of his frame, but such gestures were paramount in today’s society of civility. He would comply.

“Come.” Saito took another draw from his cigarette and then perched it on the ashtray.

The door opened and a man of medium stature entered, a canvas messenger bag slung across the breast of his navy police uniform. “Pardon my intrusion, Mister Fujita. Today’s mail…”

“Ah. Thank you.”

Humming softly to himself, Yamazaki quickly withdrew three letters and rifled through the rest to ensure none were left behind. “Here you are, Sir.”

Saito extended his hand to accept them, his gaze breezing over the unruly penmanship of the top envelope before snapping back up to maintain eye contact. “Much appreciated.”

Yamazaki bowed his head. “Sorry again for the intrusion. Good day.” He turned and made his exit, closing the door with a soft tap and leaving Saito alone again—or so it might have appeared. A presence had piggybacked on these letters however, and the arms of a ghost now wrapped about Saito’s shoulders from behind.

He stared down at the top envelope and his brows twitched at his surge of desire to open it. The reaction was instant: Saito shifted his focus back to his reports. The cigarette was placed between his lips once more, but as his mind attempted to zero in on petty theft in Musashino, that presence hugged him tighter and tighter until it was impossible to neglect.

Saito reached for the envelope. Long gloved fingers used a letter opener to neatly access the inside and then withdrew a small sheet of paper with only a date written on it.

_April 19._

Three days from now. Golden eyes flicked up and across the office to land upon a paper wall calendar, confirming what he’d known to be true. The frequency had changed. The last correspondence arrived only two weeks ago, upward from what had been once per month since February.

It appeared that the winds of change would whisper before they blew, but he was a patient individual—and it was only a matter of time.

After exhaling a long draw, Saito tucked the message into a shirt pocket and went back to his work. For a brief moment, he felt the sensation of phantom lips pressing to his shoulder and reached up to massage it away.

And then he was alone.

~

_April 19, 1879  
12 th Year of the Meiji_

A gentle evening rainstorm pattered upon ceramic roof tiles and dotted the nearby river with tiny ripples. Running parallel to the dirt road, the lazy movement of water had been adorned by the falling of pink cherry blossom petals distorting the reflections of hand-lit streetlamps.

There was something inherently calming about the combination of tatami mats and cedar wood walls; the mixture of scents and contrasting color was easy on the senses and could make anywhere feel like a piece of home, even a lackluster inn.

This wasn’t home, however—far from it. And that such a tranquil location had become the chosen place to frequent was nothing short of paradoxical.

Huge fistfuls of futon bedding were trapped in the grip of Sano’s hands as the back of his head pressed against a western-style pillow. He threw his face to the side with lips opened and eyes shut tight, while his chest expanded and contracted from rapid deep breaths.

“Does it hurt?”

Sano refused to let his lashes part; he wouldn’t dare look at Saito like this, or risk seeing his own calves hiked up and resting against strong shoulders still covered by a black undershirt. There was a risk that he would never forget the sight.

Being the only one naked was nothing out of the ordinary, but Sano finding himself on his back with a very different view from what he’d been accustomed to proved too alarming. Eyes were the windows to the soul, he’d been told, and Sano didn’t know if he was more afraid of baring his own or the potential of seeing deeply into Saito’s.

“Hey,” the deep voice tried again quietly, impatience in its tone betrayed by the stillness of Saito’s body. “Sagara.”

Swallowing, Sano shook his head. “It’s fine. Keep going,” he half-lied over a harsh whisper.

Indeed, it wasn’t pain that he was experiencing, but something altogether different. Assuming this position was too intimate, too personal; it made it too easy for Sano’s hands to release the blankets and latch onto the undone navy trousers about Saito’s thighs. And how Sano _wanted_ to—in theory. But even an inkling of acknowledgment of his desire to reach out for Saito in reality caused apprehension to mount.

They weren’t together, didn’t have _those_ kinds of feelings for each other. This was nothing more than a convenient hookup, a little frequent fact-checking into enemy territory before the old score between them would finally be settled. Saito had already disappeared once, and Sano wasn’t about to reach the next plateau of his training to find his opponent had vanished again.

Frequenting the Tachibana Inn together was the best way to keep tabs, and as for the physical exchanges…Sano had chalked them up to _whatever kept that asshole around long enough_. If he were honest with himself, there was more to it than that. However, he’d discovered long ago that avoidance of things he didn’t want to deal with was useful.

Their running score had been a focal point in Sano’s life for months on end now; it’d been the springboard to Kyoto and an obsession that overtook him in the aftermath. The chance to prove his worthiness ignited an inferno within him and became the perfect justification to keep seeing Saito, even if their current moonlighting involved less combat and more of Sano getting on all fours.

Someday, that would change. After all, the first time he’d arrived here had been to do nothing more than fight—and win. The first time Sano left here, however, it was with a little more than he’d bargained for.

Tachibana was where they’d faced off after the great unexpected reunion—when Sano’s soul had nearly left his body upon the sight of a ghost flicking cigarette ashes at the dojo entrance last November. Under gently falling leaves, Kenshin had stepped in when harsh words were traded and fists were raised. Aware the rivalry couldn’t be resolved without interference at Missy’s or on some public street, Sano had demanded Saito meet him privately to conclude their business.

One day after, he’d arrived here inundated by emotion, had been so furious that he _knew_ he wasn’t thinking straight. And while Sano had fully intended to break Saito’s jaw, the gloved hand which caught his knuckles and stopped his plan then and there proved he still had a long way to go.

As the grasp on Sano’s clenched hand tightened, an unimpressed hum had emanated from deep within Saito. “ _I suggest you write to me when you’re ready to stop fucking around and get serious._ ”

And that was when the tension between them finally detonated like a supernova.

Back then, Sano hadn’t known how he’d gone from screaming and throwing punches in reply to something so arrogant, to having his spine pressed against the wall with Saito’s lips crushing against his. The memories all felt disconnected. His head had gone into a dizzying haze, his anger metamorphosed to yearning with the desperate clenching of a blue jacket while his own slipped from his shoulders.

Sano supposed his thoughts were just as muddled now, as his heart pounded and he longed for the taste of that day which he would never have again. Another kiss was out of the question; the feeling of Saito’s mouth against his had been addictive and dangerous—and even now, he hadn’t forgotten the exotic flavor which had graced his tongue.

The pressure against his entrance suddenly withdrew and Sano exhaled as his legs were lowered back to the futon. Brown eyes opened slowly to the far wall, his starved lips still parted. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at Saito from this location and certainly couldn’t remain frozen like this; both routes gave Saito too much control over the situation…and him.

In fact, Sano had no idea what that smug mouth might say next to the lull in action, but whatever it would be, he knew he didn’t want to hear. Employing the best avoidance tactic he could come up with on the spot, he flipped onto his stomach and pushed up on his hands and knees. Sano’s thighs slid apart, offering the most erotic view he could imagine before saying, “Like this.”

Seeing the familiar sight of the room instead of Saito’s face resolved his unease, and whatever drop in excitement Sano had experienced was reclaimed when he felt two deft fingers enter him again. His lips curled in and he breathed out through his nose, wanting to bark that he was already ready for it but not willing to run the risk of sounding desperate.

Sano’s mouth fell open when the third was added, and just as it occurred to him that Saito was repeating this action because he was concerned with his comfort, the comment came.

“That’s a nice sight.”

Grunting in reply, Sano closed his eyes and rocked his hips.

“Too bad you look nicer on your back.”

“Excuse me?” Sano snapped, his chin hitting his shoulder.

Saito hummed indifferently. “Well, time to get this over with.”

Lowering his head, Sano’s brows pulled inward as the outlandish pleasant thought he’d considered about Saito actually caring was not only proven wrong but inwardly embarrassing as well. A dusting of pink haze colored from ear to ear. _Why_ had his mind gone there?

“Look, asshole,” Sano began and started pushing himself up. “If you don’t want— _ngh_.” His words were stolen and his body stilled as he felt the head of Saito’s cock pressing against his hole, slowly and little-by-little breaching him. The tension in Sano’s muscles dissipated, like the soft sigh that left his lips.

It took time but once he finally felt the presence of Saito’s thighs against him, Sano collapsed forward to his chest, out of breath and holding tightly to the pillow. With flushed cheeks, he took the fabric of the sheet between his teeth and suppressed the dramatic moan begging for escape from the back of his throat.

Saito’s movements were controlled and slow from there, but once Sano’s body had fully adjusted to the penetration, there was no holding back.

The pillow muffled sounds which Sano decided he never wanted to recall.

~

Rain continued to trickle off the roof.

Sano had cleaned up as best he could when Saito left to bathe. Tachibana was an unembellished older inn on the outskirts of Nishigokencho, offering hot baths infused with herbal treatments that changed every several weeks. The pleasant scent during his afternoon soak had told Sano the water was treated with jasmine this time, and he was now looking forward to immersing himself in that luxury again.

He supposed he could have joined Saito; the baths were open to all patrons, after all, and it wasn’t as if he had any issues with being naked in front of him. Still, Sano had chosen to wipe himself off with a towel for the meantime and neaten up the futons as if nothing had ever happened on them. He laid across them, clad only in his white trousers.

It was better this way, staying detached. Lying supine with his toes pointed upward, Sano stared at the dark wooden ceiling and clasped his hands over his abdomen tightly. He could still feel Saito inside of him and the way large hands held his hips—could still feel heavy breaths spilling over his left shoulder, and hear hushed sounds of pleasure feathering into his ear.

Now, all that was physically left of him was a neatly folded police uniform.

Sano closed his eyes. Outside, a light breeze made the porch chimes jingle. …Perhaps, he thought, he really _should_ have joined Saito to bathe, just this once.

Despite the grudge that bore a physical presence upon his right shoulder, there was no denying that Sano harbored a desire to be near Saito; it was only natural, given his past experience. He couldn’t condemn himself for what had stemmed from the shock of death and subsequent surprise of life. Sano had already lived through losing someone he admired once, had already known how permanent a scar it could leave across the heart.

But where Sano’s esteem for Captain Sagara was rooted in respect and fatherly love, his admiration for Saito came from his strength and the desire to surpass it. If Sano could do that, it would prove that he could take _anyone_. And then, maybe, the captain’s soul would rest easily and Sano could finally forgive himself for being incapable of protecting a life precious to him.

 _Captain_ …

The door slid open and Sano raised his chin, watching as Saito turned, stepped out of his slippers, and entered. A towel had been slung over the back of his neck and his katana held tightly in hand. He wore a gray, inn-issued yukata, the fabric belt highlighting just how thin his waist was.

Despite his slender figure, Saito was tall and angular with muscles in the most flattering places, and these attributes meant his body was endlessly complemented by wearing a yukata. Upon that thought, Sano lowered his head back to the futon.

He tried to drown out the sounds of clothing being unfolded and donned as Saito dressed, tried not to imagine what garments were being slipped on and how they must have looked against Saito’s pale skin.

Rustling of a paper bag on the other side of the room finally inspired Sano to look up again, and when he saw Saito kneeling on the tatami and biting into a rice ball, his stomach rumbled loudly.

After several moments of silence, Saito’s eyes slid to him while he quietly chewed. “So,” he finally said in a voice laced with apathy, “about this score.”

Sano’s brows knitted downward as he sat up tall. “What about it?”

Saito popped the last bite of onigiri in his mouth and then quickly slipped white gloves over his hands. “I suppose it won’t be settled tonight.”

“I guess not, after you decided to take a bath and all that.” Sano felt a clear expression of irritation spreading over his features, and threw his face to the side.

The only reply he received was a hum. Each glove was given a firm tug at the wrist.

Sano’s knees bent and spread as his feet slid back, so he could comfortably rest his forearms upon them. “I need more time anyway,” he muttered.

Another hum came in response as a match lit the end of a cigarette. Saito took a draw and upon breathing out, he added, “You’re right about something for once.”

Brown eyes saw red and Sano’s attention snapped forward. “Hey, you know, you probably don’t even realize this but I’ve been training every damn day.” His growling stomach went as ignored as his unwrapped left hand marred by blotches of purple, blue, and crimson. “If my right hand wasn’t all messed up, this would all be over already.”

Inhale, exhale. “Right.”

“You _could_ sound a little more enthused.” The annoyance that had crossed Sano’s face earlier disappeared as a smirk pulled outward into his cheeks. “Because when our fists finally meet in this fucking fight, you’ll know the true power of the futae no kiwami and be left feeling like a real asshole for not taking me seriously.”

“Well, what more could be expected.” Saito stood and moved his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “Only an idiot would train endlessly and not even realize he’s going about it the wrong way.”

With fingers curling tightly into his palms, Sano shoved himself on his knees. “What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re putting too much energy into the wrong place.”

“Listen, you bastard,” Sano growled through clenched teeth. “For the last fucking time, defense isn’t my style! I’ll fight how I wanna fight!” Banged up fists collided. “And that’s how I’m gonna beat you— _my_ way.”

One slender brow barely twitched on Saito’s face as he peered down at Sano in silence. After moments passed without further rebuttal, he dismissively lifted his chin. “In any case, I have more important things to do than listen to the ramblings of a dreamer.” Saito had accurately predicted his jab would incite another outburst, and interrupted it before it happened by firing the paper bag in Sano’s direction.

The bag fell into Sano’s hands. “The hell is this?” He peered inside to find rice balls.

“The civilized world calls it _dinner_.” Saito fastened his katana to his belt and then swiped his hands over his uniform-clad shoulders to ensure the fabric was smooth. “I don’t know what that translates to in the language of Neanderthal, so don’t ask.” With that, he removed the half-smoked cigarette from his mouth and crushed the end in a nearby ashtray.

“…They look homemade.”

“It’s because they are.”

Sano closed his eyes and the right corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Cops can really get away with anything, huh. I wonder whose kitchen you jacked these from.”

“A moron like you wouldn’t be interested in the story.” Saito ran gloved digits through his hair to ensure the strands that agreed to stay in place—unlike his bangs—were actually in place and then without looking to Sano, walked to the door. “Anyway, until next time.”

“Saito.”

Saito’s fingers rested on the hollow in the door but before he pushed it open, he looked over his shoulder.

Their eyes met for several seconds before Sano finally raised the bag. “…Thanks.”

No words followed. Saito simply stared at him with a contemplative gaze, and then finally slid the door aside to take his leave.

“What kind of look was that?” Sano mumbled to himself, gazing across the emptiness Saito’s departure left in its wake. His stomach voiced its impatience again, and after shaking his head clear, Sano withdrew one of the two rice balls from the bag. It was shaped into a perfect triangle with dried nori meticulously cut to wrap neatly around the center.

Sano bit into the top and his brows raised when the flavor of salted plum enticed his tongue. He chewed faster and swallowed, eagerly taking another large bite. If only Missy could cook this way! Making a mental note to ask Saito where the hell he’d gotten a hold of such damn good onigiri the next time they met, Sano devoured the rest and then crashed back against the bed.

Fingertips pressed to his lips and he exhaled. He reveled in the thought that he’d sleep well tonight after bathing—and instantly blocked the start of a frightening thought that he might regret Saito’s scent being washed from his body.

After all, they weren’t together…didn’t have _those_ kinds of feelings for each other. This was nothing more than a convenient hookup, a little distraction while Sano trained his left hand to be as useful as his right had been before it was broken.

Sano stared at the ceiling for so long that he lost track of the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! <3
> 
> I run a Shinsengumi sideblog on tumblr, if you're interested: [kondo-hijikata](http://kondo-hijikata.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**.*Chapter 2*.**

_April 20, 1879  
12 th Year of the Meiji_

“It’s April, not March,” Sano said, raising his shallow sake cup toward the calendar on the far wall.

Katsu’s eyes widened and his long hair swayed as he shot a glance over his shoulder. “Well, shit. There’s always that _one_ thing you forget to do...” He placed his own cup down on the low table he shared with Sano and got to his feet. Reaching for the offending pages, Katsu tore off them off one-by-one. “There, now it’s right for tomorrow. Close enough to it anyway.”

Sano tilted his head back and let his lashes fall. He’d drunk enough to feel comfortably warm and relaxed. “Hn? I thought a journalist would be a little more interested in what day it is.”

“Hey, hey, I just got back this afternoon!” Katsu retorted and parked himself on his cushion again. “And even if I didn’t travel, some nights I’m out so late sticking my nose in everyone else’s business that all I can do when I get back here is collapse in bed. The last thing I’m worried about is my own calendar.” Chuckling, he reached for his sake and sipped.

“What had you going to Hokkaido anyway?” Sano asked. “That’s one hell of a journalism journey.”

Katsu snorted at the ridiculous wordplay. “Yeah, well, when the biggest news around here is local men catching a snapping turtle in the lake, that’s when you know it’s time to travel for a scoop.” He clapped his palms. “So, that’s what I did. Speaking of which—this is going back a few years—are you familiar with the Treaty of Saint Petersburg?”

“Something about territory disputes with Russia, yeah?”

“Yep. The treaty was made to clearly define ambiguous borders in the northern islands, which resulted in the government giving up claim of ownership of Karafuto. That’s one hell of a huge piece of land. Our people living up there lost so much.” Katsu picked up his cup but didn’t drink. “Ever since then, it’s like a massive black cloud of tension is slowly spreading over Hokkaido. They’re worried about the threat of a Russian invasion and that the government will just abandon them too.”

“An invasion?” Sano echoed. “Of Hokkaido? Isn’t that kinda far-fetched? I mean, I get why they feel the way they feel about the government. Can’t blame them for that, but…an _invasion_?”

“That was how I felt too, but the further up I went, the more and more tense people got. No one was willing to say too much, either. It was like being an outsider in my own country. I mean, down here, the threat doesn't even appear to be substantiated but…” Katsu trailed off for a beat. “I don’t know if it’s just local paranoia but honestly, it made me uneasy.”

“Are you going back anytime soon?”

“I hope so, since I left with more questions than answers. But really, it all depends on if and when I get any other leads.” With a groan, Katsu arched his back and filled the space with the sound of joints popping in succession. “Man, journalism sure is a busy job, even when you’re just reporting on mundane local news. Forget it when you gotta travel.”

Sano hummed. “Russia, huh…”

“I haven’t even had a chance to properly drink lately, so you coming by really, really made my night.” Katsu raised his cup. “This is good as hell, by the way. Tastes expensive.”

“Yeah, I had some extra money this week so I sprung for it.” Sano grabbed the jug by the neck and reached over to offer Katsu a refill, then topped off his own.

“Yeah? Appreciate it. Guess you had some luck with the dice recently?”

“You could say that.” Sano’s eyes wandered down to his outstretched legs for a moment. Like hell would he admit that the real reason was because Saito had paid for the inn stay _again_ , despite his having saved enough to cover the cost. …Not that Sano would’ve ever confessed to meeting Saito in the first place. No one knew about what they’d been doing, and Sano would be damned before anyone found out. He changed the subject. “From what you’re saying, I guess the job isn’t gonna settle down anytime soon, is it?”

“Have you ever known the news to stop?” The corners of Katsu’s lips pulled out into a quiet smile and he slouched against the wall. “I haven’t been able to paint recently. Shame, really. I miss it. Though if you’re still in need of paper, you can keep using mine.”

“Thanks. Consider the sake my paying you back for that.” Sano kept his gaze glued to the place where his calves disappeared under the table, until he felt himself being watched. His eyes raised to Katsu’s.

“Don’t tell me you’re drunk already?” Katsu jabbed.

“Cht.” Sano cocked his head. “Nowhere even near it. I’m just trying to figure out what I’m gonna do about training now, you know?”

“Ah…” Katsu nodded and glanced downward for a beat. “Yeah, I’m really sorry. I guess my change in career kinda screwed you out of a sparring partner, didn’t it?”

With a wave of his hand, Sano dismissed the apology. “Hey, no worries. You had this coming. I was talking more about how I'm making do on my own anyway. Sparring is helpful and all but really, the most important thing is making my left hand as powerful as my right as soon as possible. I keep hitting a wall with my progress and I don't know how to get over it.”

Silence fell between them for some time, before Katsu broke it with caution. “Hey, uh, Sano.” His attention remained on his half-full sake cup on the table. “Maybe you don’t wanna hear it, but…don’t you think it’s time to let this go?”

Sano lifted his chin and blinked, his brows raising slightly. “Let what go?”

“This whole…” Katsu’s gaze met his. “… _obsession_ you have with that guy.”

“Hey.” With his hands planted firmly against the tatami, Sano sat up. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not _obsessed_ with Saito.”

Katsu closed his eyes and shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “No, I mean with the whole score and quest for glory and revenge. I mean, it’s almost been a year since you guys were just outside, throwing fists in broad daylight and pissing off my neighbors.”

Sano groaned under his breath and pivoted until he was sitting parallel to the table. So, the conversation was going here… He tilted his head back and looked out vacantly to the ceiling while droning, “Katsu, you don’t underst—”

“You set off to Kyoto,” Katsu interjected with a hand thrust in Sano’s direction. “Train all the hell the way there, learn the futae no kiwami, help take down Shishio. And it’s _still_ not enough. Can’t you be satisfied with how far you’ve come? I mean, yeah. Keep training for your own good, but it’s about more than that, isn’t it? It’s all about beating _him_ —Saito.”

If Sano’s shoulders weren’t already raised from the way he was sitting, he would’ve shrugged them. Normally, that kind of preachy talk would annoy the hell out of him and escalate into a brawl, but now, he just thoughtfully looked toward his bare toes through half-fallen lashes.

“Have you even seen him again?” Katsu reached for his cup. “He probably forgot all about you anyway.”

“It is what it is.” The answer was safe enough. A pensive silence followed as Sano studied the bandages wrapped about his ankles and feet before he spoke up again, perhaps a little softer at first than he’d intended. “Hey, Katsu…” A pause. “If he were alive now, do you think the captain would be proud of you?”

Katsu nearly inhaled his sake instead of swallowing, sending himself into a coughing fit before demanding, “ _What_?! What kind of—”

“Just answer the question.”

Raising the fingertips of his left hand to the center of his bandana, Katsu pressed it gently, as if touching it would make his words more meaningful. “Why wouldn’t he be? He fought for justice and that’s how I live my life too, even now.” His hand fell. “Isn’t that what we all fought together for? I don’t think either of us has deviated from the path he sent us on.”

“Maybe,” Sano said. “Guilt is a really heavy thing to carry around with you, though.”

“What?”

“ _Guilt_ ,” Sano stressed, cocking his face toward Katsu but not letting his eyes wander from his feet. “That’s what it’s about. This isn’t just me settling a score with some pretentious cop for nothing, all right? There’s more going on than wanting to salvage something as cheap as pride.”

“Sounds like you’re making excuses to justify something that you know is bullshit.” Katsu could be irritating sometimes, but at least he was honest. “How the hell can you sit there and try to link some stupid feud with Saito to the captain?”

“Easily.” With a huff, Sano’s lashes fell. “Do you have any idea how much of a burden it is to have this…perfect memory of your ultimate failure? To remember it so vividly that you relive it over and over when you close your eyes?”

Sano hadn’t particularly wanted to have this discussion, but if he couldn’t speak about it with Katsu, then he could tell it to no one. “I was there when they all died. Boots on, fists up. Like men. When the first shots were fired, everyone’s first instinct was to protect the captain. But as for the captain…” He raised a hand to his chest and flicked it with the click of his tongue. “…the only thing on his mind was to shove _me_ out of the way. Twice.”

“Sano, what the fuck?”

Finally, their eyes met again. “Shut up. Listen to what I’m saying.” Sano straightened his spine. “I was so weak back then. So weak that I couldn’t protect the one guy who showed me love and compassion and gave me a place to belong when I needed it most. I _hated_ myself for that.”

“You were _nine years old_!” Katsu exclaimed.

“And thought I was going to live and bleed and fight with my Sekihoutai brothers forever.” When Sano’s voice raised, it went raw. “Because _nothing_ was more important than them. But you’re right, I was just a kid. What could I have understood about politics and death? Here we are now, though, older and smarter. Just the two of us with too much time on our hands to reminisce. We're all that remains of a dream left behind.”

“How the fuck do you think _I_ feel?” Katsu spat. “The captain left me with that old woman because I had a fever! I wasn’t even there to try to help!”

“See? You get it then, right?” The earlier emotion present in Sano’s voice had vanished, leaving only a dismal tone. “You know how it is to be burdened by feeling you were too weak back then, too. The captain entrusted the future to us. And that’s where the difference lies between us now.” He cocked his head. “You’ve grown up and moved on, proved that you’re worth more than all the downfalls of the past. You can say he’s proud of you.” Sano’s eyes softened. “But I can’t.”

Katsu’s spine relaxed as his defenses lowered.

“Look, after we split ways all those years ago, when I worked my ass off to get stronger…it wasn’t to take revenge on the government—though a government built on corruption and blackmail can go fuck itself.” Sano swallowed and averted his gaze for a moment. “I couldn’t stomach the thought of ever being so weak again that I couldn’t protect what mattered most, so I started fighting and never stopped.”

Lifting his injured fist, Sano flexed his fingers. “But look what happened. I thought I was hot shit and got put in my place right away, yeah?” He huffed. “Kenshin left for Kyoto without a fucking word. Saito told me to stay here, because I’d only be a distraction—a vulnerability. When I got to Kyoto anyway, he tried to leave my ass locked up in jail.”

“Jail?” Katsu raised his chin. “You never mentioned that part.”

“It was for some minor bullshit, whatever.” Sano had long ago decided to conveniently leave out that the purpose had been simply to find Saito. “He was gonna leave me in there, so I destroyed the door with the futae no kiwami. Figured when he saw that, he’d realize how much stronger I got and take the stick out of his ass. Sure enough, though…the second I go up against someone who looks tough, he started the smack talk again and tried to step in for me.”

From the moment Sano had stepped foot into that first room of Shishio’s fortress, it was clear that the showdown with Anji would be fierce and end with a major injury. Neither of those facts deterred or distracted him from doing what had to be done however, and he descended those stairs unafraid.

What Sano just couldn’t let go of was how many times Saito had tried to hold him back. The words had enraged him when he heard them the first time, but in retrospect, they needled into him and ate away at his confidence.

“ _Do you want to switch with me?_ ” Sano could still hear that cool, detached voice from the balcony. “… _Last chance to switch._ ” A hit of the cigarette and then, “ _Is this really okay?_ ”

“But you didn’t let him take your place,” Katsu argued. “And you fucked the monk up without anyone’s help. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“It did at the time, when I was still riding high on my victory.” Sano pressed his cup to his lips and tossed his head back, downing the rest. “But it doesn’t amount to shit anymore. Shishio kicked my ass and I lost the ability to fight with my good hand. If that Aoshi guy hadn’t shown up after, who knows what would’ve happened.” He shrugged. “In the end, we won. But instead of facing me like he promised, Saito goes and fakes his fucking death. Like, you see what I’m saying here, don’t you? Even after everything, I’m _still_ being left behind.”

Katsu’s eyes widened as Sano shoved himself to his feet.

“ _That’s_ why I gotta finish what I started, Katsu.” Sano smacked his left knuckles into the opposite palm. “I gotta make it so that I’m never considered expendable and left to _sit quietly_ again, that I’ll always be strong enough to protect what’s important. And if not?” He titled his head to the side. “I’ll go out in the biggest blaze of glory trying.”

He stepped down from the raised eating area, sliding his feet into slippers one by one. “So call it an obsession, call it stupid…call it whatever you want. But the next time something major goes down, no one’s gonna brush me aside again.”

Katsu remained silent as Sano shuffled over to the stack of blank paper resting on a shelf near the corner. “I’m gonna take some of this again, thanks.”

“You got it.” Katsu’s voice was a little smaller. His feet found his slippers and he approached Sano. “About the sake, are you sure—?”

“Yeah.” Sano grinned and clapped Katsu’s shoulder. “Keep it. Enjoy it.” His brows lifted. “I mean…when you can, that is.”

Katsu nodded and they both walked to the door. Sano switched from the slippers to his shoes and then let himself out, starting on his way down the street bathed in moonlight. Bracing himself against the frame, long black hair swished as Katsu leaned forward and stuck his head out. “See you again soon, yeah?”

Sano turned around long enough to give a thumbs up and then waved over his shoulder.

Katsu watched after him for several moments, his vision focusing on the character branding his back like a curse. _Evil_. He thought he’d understood why Sano wore it so openly, had thought it’d been about pride. But now…

Katsu’s gaze fell to the dirt road when Sano disappeared down an alley, and he began to wonder if he really knew his friend as well as he thought, after all.

With chirping insects as his only company, he ducked back inside and slid the door closed, considering that perhaps there was some soul-searching he had to do for himself, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <333
> 
> I love how RK is fiction weaved into pieces of history, so I wanted to do the same with this story. The treaty Katsu mentioned was good timing to build a plot around, and here we are. :3


	3. Chapter 3

**.*Chapter 3*.**

_April 30, 1879  
12th Year of the Meiji_

“Yamazaki.”

The familiar rapping on the door was accompanied by an equally familiar voice, but the shadow cast over the window shade had taken a different shape than usual. From Saito’s position behind his desk, it seemed the mailman had grown much taller and decided on some questionable fashion revisions.

“Already,” Saito said beneath his breath, aware of exactly who would be walking into his office. “Well.” A gloved thumb flicked at the end of a cigarette, scattering ashes over the tray, and his voice raised. “Come.”

The door opened, revealing the unlikely pair he’d expected.

“Pardon my intrusion, Mister Fujita…” Yamazaki began as he entered, but had no chance to finish his sentence.

“Pard’n _my_ intrusion,” Cho announced as he strutted in directly after, his heavy footsteps accompanied by the jingling of chain links affixed to his boots. He sauntered past Yamazaki with large palms running alongside thick golden spikes of hair and then flopped down in the wooden seat opposite Saito. With one leg thrown over the armrest, he added, “…Mister Fujita.”

After the typical dancing of fingertips through the mailbag to ensure nothing was left behind, Yamazaki held a single envelope out. “Just one letter this time, Sir.”

Saito’s hand extended to receive it. “Thank you.” The exchange occurred directly in front of Cho’s face, and his attention focused on the written address.

Bowing, Yamazaki excused himself and then shut the door behind him. With the letter in his left hand and smoke in his right, Saito’s eyes turned to Cho. “So. You’re back from the land of the dead.”

Cho launched himself forward and whipped his hand up through the air, grabbing the envelope from Saito. Holding it up to inspect the penmanship, he laughed. “What’s this? The handwritin’ looks like you’re gettin’ a letter from a kid that can barely write the _fuji_ in Fujita.”

Saito snatched it out of Cho’s grasp and dropped it on his desk face down. “If you think that’s illegible, you should see your own.”

“Now, now!” Cho fell back into the recesses of the chair and slouched a little further than before. His fingertips tapped before his chest as he reclined his head back and looked at Saito through one slit-like eye. “You oughta take a look at my _real_ handwritin’. It’s plenty beautiful. I just use chicken scratch to make y’all think it ain’t.”

Saito perched his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray and dismissively replied, “Ah, of course. If I can’t read your writing, then there would be no use in making you spend hours meticulously slaving over documentation.”

“Plain an’ simple, boss!” A strip of white flashed as Cho’s lips spread into grin. “That’s the style of Sawagejo Cho.”

“The paperwork around here has built up recently,” Saito said. “It’s fortunate to learn you’ve been faking those hieroglyphics, since that means you’ll now be helping.” The cocky smirk on the opposite side of the desk vanished. “I’ll have your verbal account first, however.”

A discontented grumble emanated from Cho. He closed his good eye as he scratched at the side of his head, and then slid his leg off the armrest to sit properly. “Well, I talked to my contact. As you expected, there was more to Houji gettin’ taken out in prison, other than someone wantin’ to shut the mouth of a radical. Seems it’s just the beginnin’ of a bigger thing.”

“If it was a one-off event, no one would have bothered making another attempt.” Saito crossed his arms loosely. “Especially on Yuukyuuzan Anji, particularly since he was quick to denounce Shishio’s utopian vision after surrendering himself. Did your contact drop a name?”

“My contact dropped a fuckin’ skeleton.” Cho leaned forward and folded his hands atop the desk. “How much you know about a guy named Adachi Souzaburo?”

Saito’s expression remained neutral, his tone unaffected. “As much as anyone, I suppose.” The toes in his polished black shoes curled.

“That he’s a criminal from the war? That he’s on the most wanted list?”

“Instead of playing a guessing game over how much or how little I know, it would be prudent to start from the start.”

Cho’s shoulders lifted. “Yeah. Well, y’all know real well that the war was largely won by ghost assassins like Shishio hittin’ key people in the Tokugawa regime. But gettin’ the info about the who, the when, and the where required another kinda shadow play.” His chin fell in a nod. “Spyin’.”

Ashes broke away from the untouched cigarette as Saito listened with intent.

“So, Adachi’s the one who was feedin’ the classifieds to the Choshi and Satsuma leaders, and essentially tellin’ Shishio who to take out. Interesting part is, he started out as a loyalist. Shinsengumi, pro-Tokugawa to the core. But somethin’ wild happened with his family that caused him to snap and he defected.”

Cho’s boot slid against the floor as he relaxed his spine and sat back. “Instead of packin’ up and headin’ over to the other side though, he stayed put and took his orders there. ‘Course that meant killin’ allies of the rebellion to save face but the top justified losin’ some of their own if it meant winnin’ in the end, right? I mean, they were fine with smokin’ Shishio when all was said and done. Water under the bridge.”

“…Thing is,” Cho continued, “Adachi _knew_ that he knew too much. He’d been burned by his own once and could foresee that his new allies were gonna try to do away with him. So, he high-tailed it outta Kyoto before the attempt could even be made—seemed to just…vanish into the night, like Shishio. In reality, they went on to hook up in the underground.”

“As a team to plot overthrowing the government,” Saito supplied.

“Exactly. But them two, they mixed like oil and water.” Cho cocked his head to the side. “Shishio had this idea that weakness had no place in the new Japan. Meanwhile, Adachi believed that victory was possible only by mobilizin’ the weak and oppressed. Get enough angry and scared people to get behind your cause, and you can do just ‘bout anything.”

“The divide in philosophy drove ‘em apart. Hell, I saw that with my own eyes when I had both and was battin’ for their team. Most of us followers lost somethin’ big in the war and wanted vengeance sooner than later. All drunk on the idea of power, we split off with like-minded Shishio, leavin’ Adachi with no leverage. And once again…” Cho blew a quick breath out. “He disappeared like a candle in the wind. Rumor has it he ran off to Russia but nobody really knows. I heard his name a few times over the years but none of us thought anything of it…that is, until Houji got axed and then the whole thing with Anji…”

“So. This is how he declares his valiant return.” Saito stood and turned to the closed window. Peering out through the side of the blinds, he continued, “After biding his time for Shishio’s defeat, Adachi now rises to the opportunity. And to prove that he was the one in the right, he’s making a statement by targeting the rest of the Juppongatana.” He turned back to Cho. “It’s logical to assume the other remaining members are under the same threat.”

“Yeah…yeah, seems that way. Though, my contact’s got no idea who’s next or where Adachi’s gettin’ a following… _if_ he even is.” Cho shook his head. “With all of Shishio’s guys locked up—excludin’ yours truly, thanks very much—where would he find a large enough group of people now who are gonna be willin’ to take up arms? I mean, this _is_ twelve years after the end of the war.”

“That’s another matter.” Saito reclaimed his cigarette and the end glowed with a final draw that caused his lips to burn. He crushed it against the ashes. “In the meantime, I want letters drafted to every prison holding Juppongatana members and other lower ranking followers, informing them to ramp up security. Since you claim to be this country’s leading calligraphist, I’ll be assigning that task to you.”

Cho grunted. “Look, now, I was just—”

“They—and your written report with all of the information you just divulged, of course—will be on my desk by end of day tomorrow. Unless there's anything further, you're dismissed.”

Cho’s mouth opened as if he wanted to argue but as Saito’s eyes pierced him, he accepted his fate. “All right, all right. End of day tomorrow.” He stood and pivoted on the soles of his boots, marching off toward the door.

“Ah. Sawagejo.”

Cho stopped in his tracks and his chin hit his shoulder as he looked back over it.

“The commissioner is visiting today and I believe he’s speaking with the chief over there.” Saito pointed to shadows outside his office windows. “Ask them to meet me here when they’re finished.”

Nodding, Cho replied, “You got it, boss.” Once he took his leave, Saito found himself again alone and yet not.

_A kiss on his shoulder…soft breath spilling over his neck…the pull of a comb through long hair…_

Saito swatted at his shoulder, brushing the phantom sensations away. His hand fell, fingertips touching the unopened letter on his desk and then picked it up.

“Murder is a fine distraction,” he said to no one, stuffing the envelope in his breast pocket. He then reached for a scroll of parchment on the edge of his desk and unrolled it, revealing a map of Japan. “Unfortunately for you, my attention is much clearer now.” Saito’s lips pulled taut momentarily. “…Adachi Souzaburo.”

The door swung open.

“Fujita!”

“Commissioner Kawaji,” Saito said, raising a hand to his chest and bowing his head as both men approached his desk. “Chief.”

“Something to report?” Kawaji asked.

“A recommendation.” The tip of Saito’s pointer finger pressed to the map. “We shift the investigation here.”

“Eh?! Hokkaido?!” The pair peered down until Kawaji lifted his face. Groaning, he rubbed at the side of his head. “Ah, Fujita! Don’t tell me you’re letting those rumors of a Russian invasion get to your head, too. There’s no time for that!”

“The threat of foreign expansion on the north has negligible basis,” Saito agreed. “However, I’m not so certain that an attack _isn’t_ currently taking place there.”

“An attack?”

“Psychological warfare, likely stemming from this location.” Saito moved his finger to a large land mass above Hokkaido.

“Sakhalin…” Kawaji cupped the side of his face to make his pensive state tangible.

Saito procured a fresh cigarette. “If you want to understand our enemy, you’ll call that island by the name it had before the government surrendered it to Russia...” He struck a match and lit up. “Karafuto.”

“Karafuto?” Adjusting his glasses, the chief straightened his spine from where he leaned over the map. “I don’t doubt the swiftness of the currents in the underground, but surely it hasn’t augmented to be impactful that far north so quickly, especially when the crime rate is so low.”

“It isn’t about criminals or the Yakuza taking up arms this time.” Saito tilted his head back and exhaled. “We’re dealing with common civilians playing right into the hands of hearsay and conjecture.”

Kawaji was quick to fill in the blanks. “You’re talking about an uprising.”

“The government can’t afford to make the same mistakes that plunged this country into the last civil war.” Saito’s eyes narrowed. “Nor can it afford to mobilize the military and show weakness to its citizens or foreign entities.”

Kawaji hummed and put his hands on his hips. “That means another covert operation falls onto us.”

“Indeed. And until we can locate and neutralize the source of the psychological venom, it’s advisable to treat the infection with balm. There must be a way to build confidence in the government again for the people in the north.”

With a stiff nod, Kawaji expressed silent agreement. “Who are we looking for?”

Saito took a pull from his cigarette. “Adachi Souzaburo.”

“A—Adachi?!” Kawaji exclaimed and slammed a hand down on the desk. “ _That_ Adachi?!”

“The same,” Saito confirmed. “At large for twelve years. Number two on the most wanted list. Former member of the Shinsengumi second troop.” And though Saito’s demeanor and voice hadn’t faltered, it didn’t mean he was immune to the effects of what he said next. “…Murderer of Okita Souji.”

His toes clenched in his shoes once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <333


End file.
